


Claustrophobia

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Unwanted erections, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:47:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fucking broom closets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claustrophobia

Back in the war, Thursday recalled a moment during the fighting when a section of wall had fallen upon him, trapping him underneath. They were under heavy artillery fire and his companions had thought him dead, leaving him there to move on. Thursday was under that wall for two days, unable to move, refusing to cry for help, fearing the Germans nearby would hear him and finish the job.

He was eventually rescued when the family of the home came back, searching through the rubble for their belongings. They dragged him out, gave him water and what little food they had. Though it was hard to say if Thursday developed a fear of small spaces, he certainly had no intention of ever getting himself in such a situation ever again.

Then he got himself locked in a broom closet with Morse.

He didn't panic. Thursday was too old to be panicking over something as silly as getting locked in a broom closet, but he felt a jolt of unease down in the pit of his stomach nonetheless. He didn't want to be here. He wanted out. There was barely enough room to move their elbows.

"I think they're gone."

Morse said it so quietly, Thursday almost didn't hear him. Morse meant the men they were spying on. Thursday would have preferred to simply arrest the men right there on the spot, but when he saw one of them was carrying a shotgun, he knew this would end as a bloodbath if he confronted them. Morse didn't carry a weapon, and all Thursday had was his pistol. To avoid having their heads blown off, he grabbed Morse by the arm, ducking into the first door he saw.

He didn't expect it to be a broom closet. He also didn't expect it to be so small. There was enough space for Thursday to stand up straight, but it was so tight, his knees bumped into Morse's without even trying.

The door wouldn't budge. Thursday could hear Morse jiggling the doorknob to no avail. He tried to put his shoulder against it, force it open, but there wasn't enough space to put power behind his push. He slammed into the door four times before giving up.

"This is a broom closet," Thursday said. "Look around, there might be a tool we can use."

Morse's eyebrows cinched lightly. He couldn't even turn around, it was too tight. He didn't complain though, and craned his head the best he could, squinting into the dull darkness, looking for anything worthwhile.

"There," he pointed above his head. "I think... it's a hammer."

It could be a hammer. Thursday only saw the handle of it. For all he knew it was a piece of wood.

"Alright," said Thursday. He awkwardly pulled his arm up, wincing as he scratched the back of his hand against the plaster of the wall. "I'll get it."

He thought he could get it from where he stood, but he was still too short, the angle too awkward to grab it. He frowned and said, "I'm going have to get close. Sorry about this, Morse."

Morse shook his head, uncaring. Wordlessly he pushed himself against the wall as much as he could, giving Thursday the space he needed. It wasn't much.

Thursday shifted closer, pushing his body against Morse, quietly afraid he was going to suffocate the young man. Thursday reached up again, his fingers barely touching the end of the hammer. He shifted his legs better, then stood on his toes, brushing his entire body against Morse.

The boy shuddered under him.

Thursday gave it no thought. It must've been uncomfortable to have an ugly, old, heavy set man against you like this. Thursday couldn't blame him. But when Thursday shifted again, moving his leg against Morse's thigh, he felt... something.

He moved back just enough to look at Morse's face. "Are you...?"

Even in the dull darkness, he could see Morse  _utterly ashamed_. His eyes were fixated to one spot, refusing to meet Thursday's. His jaw was stiff, teeth gritting in a painful looking manner, and his head was turned away so much it was as if he was trying to break his own neck.

Morse had an erection. And it was pressing up against Thursday's thigh.

Thursday startled. He didn't expect for such a thing to happen, but now that it did, he wasn't really surprised. After all, Morse was a healthy young man, with probably a healthy young sex life. And with Thursday rubbing against him like this, the reaction was simply natural.

Still, this wasn't something they could both just suddenly ignore. "It's all right, lad," Thursday said. "It happens."

If anything, it made Morse look  _worse_. Perhaps it would've been better to keep quiet.

In the end, Thursday couldn't bring himself to really care. They still needed to get out of this situation, and Morse's issues with his anatomy could be dealt with later.

Thursday leaned up again, this time more determined to grab that stupid hammer, uncaring if he pressed his leg further in between Morse's. Thursday's fingers brushed against the handle, slowly bringing it out further and further with each touch. When the weight distribution favored the handle, the hammer tipped right into Thursday's open palm.

He grinned in triumphant, and slowly went back down, flat on his feet.

Morse suddenly jammed his fist into his mouth, biting down hard on his knuckles, as his whole body shuddered involuntarily.

Oh.  _Oh_.

This time, Thursday said nothing. He took the claw of the hammer and stuck it against the wedge of the door. He gave it three good tugs, and on the fourth, the lock finally gave, releasing them.

He stumbled out first. A weight he didn't know he had suddenly dropped from his shoulders, happy to out in the open. Next time, he was going to let the criminals find him. Broom closets be damned.

He didn't turn around, giving Morse some sort privacy though it was for naught. They were still going have to drive back together. "You alright there, Morse?"

There was a hitch to his voice. Still greatly embarrassed, he croaked, "Yes. I'm fine."


End file.
